In Birdcages
by toujourspret
Summary: Escaping is only the illusion of freedom when your wings have been clipped.


Author's Note: I managed to finish this one a bit sooner than I thought I might, and then I managed to sneak away to the library (yes, yes, I _know_, smut on the library computers! Gasp, shock, nearly Victorian amounts of prudish horror!), so here we are! I wrote this one from a prompt on the meme, of course, but honestly, the prompt already has a lovely fill that more closely follows the line of the prompt, so here it is for you lot, and it may not go there at all. Either way, I hope you enjoy it! I enjoyed the chance to play within the canon (ish), and this was actually really fun for me to write. I don't quite know what that says about me, though...

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**In Birdcages**

Curled against the side of the cell, Suzaku laughs a crackled, bitter laugh. He's counted the tiles on the floor twice. The cell is maximum security. Maximum-maximum, with walls water-clear and no discernable door. They were unconscious when they were lowered in—at least, he thinks that's how they got here—and so far no one's approached their crystal cage. He's not even sure how someone could; there's no walkway extended to the brightly-lit island of a cell.

"I hate you," Lelouch says weakly from where he's slumped against the opposite wall. As if those are the magic words, the screen above Suzaku's head flickers to life. He ignores it. "You're a coward and a traitor."

Anger burbles low in Suzaku's belly like still water bursting into sudden boil. "Shut up," he hisses, voice gritty.

"You're faithless," Lelouch continues, black, clotted bile spilling from his words to puddle between them. "You wouldn't know loyalty if it bit you in the _ass_."

"Shut _up_," Suzaku snarls back. The walls thrum with the intensity of his tone like a tuning fork, and for a moment, he wonders: if he could break something with his words, which would he choose? the glass or the man?

"Children, please." Charles's voice is smooth, silky, somehow sterile. Suzaku's attention is snapped to the screen, Pavlov's dog after years of telecast speeches and phoned-in orders. Charles smiles almost benevolently. "There will be time for fighting later, when it's your own time you'll be wasting and not mine. Right now, you're going to sit down like good little boys and answer my questions."

Lelouch snorts derisively and Suzaku shoots him a look. The prince's lip is busted, probably from an admittedly overenthusiastic tackle on his part, but he doubts he's the one responsible for the smattering of bruises that pepper that aristocratic swan's neck where it disappears into the inky shadows of his restriction coat. Lelouch glares balefully at him from behind the blindfold that obscures his haunted eye, but he looks more like a disgruntled cat than the murderous thing that has stolen his friend's form. No, Suzaku doubts he caused those marks; he's not the only soldier in Pendragon to lose a loved one to Zero's tantrums. To Lelouch's tantrums. He turns away.

He opens his mouth to give the standard answer, the answer that's probably expected of him, the answer that sits on the edge of his tongue subconsciously each time a Britannian speaks to him. He'd said them to his math teacher at Ashford, to the uproarious giggles of his classmates; it's like they roll around in the space behind his tongue, waiting to come out: "Yes, my Lo—"

"I'm not telling you anything." And behind him, Suzaku is sure Lelouch is jutting his chin out like a peacock's beak, all bird-fine bones and righteous indignation and just a hint of an overwhelming desire to show off, to prove he's not the useless, replaceable son Charles accused him of being all those years ago. He can hear the prince's position in his words, hear the stretched shoulders in the dusky velvet hollows of his voice and the defiantly puffed chest in the breathy whisper that follows each word. Before he remembers that he hates him, he worries that Lelouch sounds like broken ribs, like a bruised spine and fractured fingers. Suzaku bites his lip against the urge to look again and keeps his eyes trained on the screen.

"Yes, Your Highness," he corrects himself, ducking his head in the correct mimicry of submission. "I will tell you anything you wish to know. You don't even need to ask." This last bit is a jab in Lelouch's direction, a smug reminder that it is he, the traitor, who will win results. Lelouch's bid for change has failed.

"I don't believe you," Charles says, and Suzaku forgets how to catch his breath in the flush of confusion that follows the simple words.

"Your High—"

Charles cuts him off with a hand. Only a waved hand, who knows how many miles away, and Suzaku's teeth snap closed like a lapdog. Lelouch makes a sound of disgust. "Pathetic," the prince sneers, voice sotto. Charles's lip twists wryly.

"You've lied to me before, Kururugi," Charles reminds him almost gently. His smile is silky poisonous as he looks at the soldier, his face a vicious parody of earnestness. "How long?"

"I—Your Highness," Suzaku sputters, ears burning with the sound of Lelouch slumping further against the wall, rolling into a more comfortable pile against the glass. We're going to be here a long time, the rustles say. He's going to gut you on the machine of his Empire, the rustles say. He'll pry things you never said and things you never meant and things you keep at home, close and secret, he'll pry them straight out of your head without your mouth ever opening, the rustles say. They say, I told you so. I told you so.

"How long have you known he was alive?" Charles asks, and it's almost rhetorical until his eyes turn needle sharp.

"Four months!" Suzaku chokes, and now he's aware of it: the cloying antiseptic smell of the cell disguising something bitter in the air. He'd take it for hate if he didn't taste the chemical on his lips when he tries to wet them.

"Four months," Charles repeats with a hum of contemplation. "For four months, you let me believe that he was dead, that your monkey of a father murdered two of my children, while you played schoolboy and courted Euphemia."

I didn't court Euphemia, he wants to say, There was never anything romantic between us. Any other statement is heresy. Any other statement will see him killed. "Euphemia pursued me," is what comes out of his horror-stricken mouth instead. "She wanted me, and it made me feel important to be the object of a princess's desire. She tried to seduce me." The words rush out, unstoppable and acid, in gushes and torrents as he shakes on the floor. Ripping his gaze from the screen, he sees Lelouch's horrified face reflected and refracted in the impossibly polished glass walls. Ashamed, he turns away from searing violet eyes to curl in on himself.

"You drugged me," he accuses faintly in the unearthly echoing silence.

"Of course I did," Charles says smoothly. "You think I'd trust the words of two liars?"

I've never lied to you, Suzaku wants to say. He bites his lip until it bleeds to stop the horrible spill of words. He's afraid what he might admit to.

"And how long did you know that he was Zero?" Charles presses on ruthlessly, even as truth and lies churn Suzaku's stomach.

"A month," he answers dully.

"A month," Charles confirms. "And suspected?"

"Two months."

"Two months, and you never bothered to tell me. Two months, and you never thought to bring this up with your superiors." Charles tuts at him playfully. "What on earth made you think that you could keep a secret like this in your pocket, to be used for favors? Do you think you deserve favors?"

The word vomit rises again and he clenches his teeth against the tide. "No. I don't think I deserve favors," he bites out.

Charles regards him curiously. "I want to say I don't believe you. Everyone believes he deserves favors. Everyone believes the world owes him something. But you can't lie; my physicians have seen to that." He pauses thoughtfully. "Why not you? Why _doesn't_ the world owe you more?"

Suzaku's iron will wavers at the force of the words trying to clamber out of his skin. "Because I'm a traitor." They're like an army of ants, these words, crawling in a steady, stinging stream from his mouth: "I'm a betrayer, a coward. I run from the truth and the things I have done. I am faithless." He laughs like an empty paper bag filling with air. "I wouldn't know loyalty if it bit me on the ass."

"That's not true!" Lelouch denies like a shout behind him, and he turns to give the prince a watery smile. "Suzaku, don't…," he wavers, then continues strong, "Don't listen to those things. I was angry. My feelings were hurt and I thought it would hurt your feelings less if you hated me when he kills me like I think he did my mother." There is a pregnant pause and Suzaku sees Lelouch make the same darting taste for the drug that he'd made earlier. Of course Lelouch is drugged too. Of course he is; who could trust the words of a liar? But the words soothe some part of him that didn't know was ruffled. How ridiculous; at least Lelouch doesn't hate him.

Charles's laugh is booming, surprising. It makes his skin crawl and his head snap back up like a puppet on a string to watch the man's delighted grin as he watches them. "I knew you'd be the key to making him talk," Charles tells Suzaku, and Suzaku wants to retch. "Why do you even care about his feelings?" the Emperor asks his son. Lelouch is silent. Suzaku can hear his muscles straining to hold back the words, or maybe it's his ears straining to hear them. He glances back at Lelouch and shudders when the thing between them surges, strange and alive and electric, that thing that rises when they're alone together or when he watches the arch of graceful hands or feels the brush of nimble fingers against his arm. He watches Lelouch's eye widen, then close with defeat as his lips tremble.

"I can't help it." Lelouch sounds small and broken, but he says no more for a long minute. "I don't want you to hate me," he finally says, single eye coming open to fix on Suzaku. His skin is waxy with sweat and his limbs shake with strain, but his eye is sharp and focused. He doesn't waver. "I hated Euphemia."

"You hated Euphemia?" Charles asks, mockingly confused.

"I hated Euphemia," Lelouch confirms meekly, and Suzaku's ears fill with the sound of buzzing bees. "I hated her easy life and the way she had everything she wanted. She never knew what it was like to want so badly that it makes you sick or to hate so deeply there's no room for anything else. She had everything, but she took from me anyway. I hated Euphemia." His one clear eye widens and he turns away, lips pursed. "I loved Euphemia. I never wanted to hurt her."

"Well, which is it? Clearly, you hated her enough to shoot her." It sounds wrong on Charles's lips, like some vital part of the statement is missing, even though Suzaku agrees.

"I loved her enough to shoot her," Lelouch says, and even across the cell Suzaku can see the dampness at the corner of his eyes. "I loved her enough to do that.

"I was so jealous," he whispers. Charles doesn't even need to prompt him before the words come again, and Lelouch's thin shoulders shake with them. "I wanted…my plans, but she didn't…. I was so jealous and angry and hurt when she _stole_—!"

"Stole?" Suzaku's chest hurts as he looks at him.

"Stole!" Lelouch's voice is shrill and strange. He turns back and Suzaku bites back a sound at the strange, heavy look he pins him with. "You've got no idea, do you? I used to dream…. I told myself a lie. I told myself a long lie, to make it better, to make it okay, to explain it to myself. You couldn't be my Knight—I renounced my title, and I didn't need a Knight, anyway—you were supposed to be for Nunnally, but she stole you!

"But I don't think I could have given you to Nunnally, either," Lelouch confesses. His words are coming quicker, manic, and Suzaku shivers. "I wanted you for myself. I used to dream, to think about—" He gives a helpless cry that chills the air. "Used to! I still do! Even now, _right now_ I'm imagining, thinking, _dreaming_! I want," he gasps, and the silence stretches between them. Even Charles is silent, a watchful presence on the screen as Lelouch struggles against chemistry. Suzaku watches the moment he gives in.

He tips his head to the side and trails the elegant fingers of one cuffed hand against his throat. "Right here. Sometimes I think about you kissing me right here. In the morning, when you've just shaved and your skin sticks to mine when you greet me before class. In the afternoon before you've gone to work, with your stubble just scratching against my skin. I think about it all the time." His eye is unfocused, but when it sweeps over Suzaku's face, Lelouch looks sad and guilty. His fingers touch his earlobe.

"And here. I can almost feel it sometimes, the weight of you pressed on top of me as you bite me here. Not hard, just a graze of teeth. Almost suckling, in a way. I imagine making out with you and I have to—" he flushes. His voice turns dreamy, "Sometimes that's all I need. I dream of you on top of me, your hand on my hip and your face against mine, your mouth on my ear and my neck and I—" He cuts off with a shiver. His lips part for breath and Suzaku mimics the movement. Lelouch's eye snaps to his mouth and Suzaku blushes.

"And, and here," Lelouch stutters, shifting his bound hands to skate his fingertips across his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of a nipple. "God," he breathes, "here. With the broad flat of your tongue really soft and the tip of it firm and just right there," he trails off, breathy. His fingers skip across his chest to the other, lashes fluttering when he actually dares tweak it beneath the heavy white prisoner's uniform. "Sucking." The word is almost onomatopoeic, lingering in the air between them. Suzaku's eyes are riveted to the pale fingers as they drift again, pointing to his left hip.

"Sometimes I dream you spend a lot of time here," Lelouch says, legs uncurling to reveal the crumpled length of his body. "It's sweet, and it makes me shiver to feel the rasp of your tongue on my skin like a cat's. It's not even someplace," he freezes, blushing, and says the word with virginal prudery—"_sexual_, but it's so…." He looks down the length of his body to watch the press of his fingers against the skin at the crease of his hip and cold fire rushes along Suzaku's skin. Lelouch looks up at him, a crooked smile on his face. "I like it."

"Stop it," Suzaku begs, eyes fixed on Lelouch's sad, desperate face. His best friend's face. "Please stop, Lelouch." If he continues, something will break. Something irreplaceable will break.

"But don't you find it fascinating, Kururugi?" Charles's voice again. It makes him feel sick, some dark and wicked thing in his skin that makes him want to rip the screen from the wall, that makes him want to _make_ Lelouch stop talking. He shakes his head frantically. "Ah-ah," Charles tuts, and Suzaku hates him. "Let's speak with our words, like people, and not our bodies, like animals or particularly slow children. I said, Do you find it fascinating, Kururugi, to hear him talk about the ways he wants you to touch him?"

"No," Suzaku manages to sob past the confusing rush of words that tries to answer for him. "I find it horrific that you would humiliate him in this way."

"It doesn't matter a bit what you find horrific," Charles tells him blithely, "because neither of you are going to remember this. But what he's _saying_—I want to know what you think of what he's _saying_."

And will is a strong thing until, once broken, it becomes as fragile as eggshells. Suzaku bites his lip until it bleeds, past the point it bleeds, biting so hard he might tear through it, but the words tear free first: "I like it. What he's saying. It makes me happy; it arouses me. I have an erection." His ears flame at Charles's laughter, his skin goes cold at the shamed posture Lelouch takes.

"Do you?" Charles asks, and he laughs and laughs. "Do something about it, then!"

Lelouch is silent. Suzaku can see him mouthing numbers as he counts tiles and wills himself away from the cell. Away from him. "No," Suzaku says finally. "You can't make me."

"I assure you, I can," Charles says, low and dangerous, and somewhere behind his eyes, Suzaku can feel Lelouch's Geass tingling, threatening. _Live_, it whispers insistently. And because he'd rather, if he has to do this anyway, be under his own volition, he shuffles over to Lelouch and tips his nose into the hairline along his nape. Lelouch smells like hopelessness and despair and dirt and sweaty boy; he looks more betrayed by this simple sign of affection than he did when Suzaku had first lifted his gun at him however many days ago in Kaminojima.

Charles is silent as Suzaku nuzzles his nose behind Lelouch's ear and gathers the lobe into his mouth, nibbling the tender skin carefully. Lelouch is still and tense as a caged bird waiting for the door to open, hollow bones quivering as Suzaku tugs and torments the lobe with his teeth until he sighs, the sound almost inaudible beneath the sound of their hearts pounding. Suzaku melts with gratitude, coaxing Lelouch's docile head to the side to reach his throat. Their cheeks brush and he realizes he can feel invisible stubble along the prince's jaw; Lelouch's skin flushes and Suzaku realizes that he can feel his own, too. He sucks spots of color between the bruises that mark the creamy skin of his neck and throat with livid spots almost the same shade as his eyes until Lelouch is soft and responsive, if not yet warm. When Suzaku raises a hand to undo the clasps of Lelouch's restraint suit, Lelouch revolts briefly, squirming in Suzaku's grasp until he is exhausted, head sagging and hair falling to cover his eyes.

"Be still," Suzaku murmurs soothingly in the voice he uses to talk to cats, and Lelouch shudders. He lets Suzaku peel the suit down, lets him expose his thin white chest and the enormous blue-black bruise that mars his ribs in a way that makes Suzaku's breath come short. Fingers skate delicately over the bruising; Lelouch winces. Satisfied that the damage isn't dangerous, Suzaku presses a reverent kiss to the bruise that makes Lelouch cry out as if burned. Suzaku does his best to ignore it as he noses his way up the thin, bony chest to the nipples, blazing pink against Lelouch's bloodless skin. He remembers the way Lelouch described his fantasy and smoothes his tongue flat over the surface pebbled with cold and apprehension. Lelouch grunts softly, but he makes no other noise.

"It doesn't seem like he appreciates you making all his dreams come true," Charles taunts, and Suzaku wants to punch him. "Lelouch, you should tell him how much you appreciate what he's doing for you."

"You ask too much," Suzaku snaps, turning to glare openly at the Emperor. Cool hands on the side of his face turn him back to Lelouch, who shakes his head.

"It feels good. It feels better than I imagined it," Lelouch tells him softly, obediently. "I think you're very talented at this, and it makes me sad that this is happening this way, but at the same time, I'm happy because I know it wouldn't have happened at all any other way." His cheeks go red again and he bites his lip, ready to flee, but Suzaku tips his face into his palm and holds it there, lashes fluttering slow butterfly kisses against his pulse.

"I'm glad you like it," Suzaku says softly before blushing and dipping his head to lap at an exposed nipple. Lelouch gasps a moan, the barest bit of voice escaping in the rush of breath, and Suzaku pulls the skin between his lips and sucks.

"Ah!" Lelouch says sharply, hands coming up to curl fingers in Suzaku's hair. The chain on the cuffs jingles against his ear. "That's—! I," the prince sputters, fingers clenching to pull Suzaku harder against his chest. It speaks louder than the words he can't find the saliva to say. "_Please_," Lelouch whimpers, and behind Suzaku, Charles chuckles slowly on the screen. Suzaku's budding arousal falls flat as he remembers where they are, why this is happening. Lelouch's eye is closed tightly, his face pained.

"What's so funny?" Suzaku growls against spit-damp skin.

"Are you a virgin, Lelouch?" Charles asks bluntly. Suzaku looks away, but he can feel Lelouch's reluctant nod. He swears under his breath. Charles laughs again, and Lelouch's chest feels like a bird trying to escape its cage. Suzaku turns back and gingerly lowers him to the floor. Lelouch hisses when his back touches the cold tile, and Suzaku twists his lips sympathetically before settling his hands around his waist inside the open restraint suit and leaning in to touch his lips to the corner of Lelouch's mouth. Despite the chill of the room, Lelouch's skin is burning under his palms. He wriggles his fingertips in until he can feel the band at the top of his briefs and pauses to kiss him again. Lelouch responds clumsily, shifting to raise a knee along Suzaku's side.

"Now, now," Charles tuts, and this time it's Lelouch who glares at him. Suzaku refuses to turn. "I know you're excited, Kururugi, but he didn't ask you to do that. You should wait until he asks for something before you do it," the Emperor scolds.

"Fuck you," Suzaku grumbles quietly. Charles laughs again.

"It's okay," Lelouch murmurs, blushing red. "I like that you want to kiss me. It makes me feel better. Actually," he says, then stops, lashes fluttering as he looks away. "I hate this. I hate saying whatever's on my mind. I hate telling you everything, because I need there to be secrets between us. It makes me feel powerless, like I have no control over anything. That's the worst feeling in the world.

"I want you to kiss me now. I used to sit in class and wonder what your mouth tastes like, what your skin tastes like, what it would be like to lick your teeth and bite your lip. I want you to hold me close to your chest and kiss me. I'm cold." His words are punctuated with a shiver. Suzaku obeys, leaning over Lelouch to kiss him properly. Their lips slide against each other, but Lelouch's kiss is chaste until Suzaku tips his jaw down, angling his face to stroke the tip of his tongue in a sweep across Lelouch's upper lip. Lelouch's mouth falls open and Suzaku surges forward, tongue darting in to meet the other until it finally responds hesitantly. He guides him carefully by example, pursing his lips to suck clinging kisses along the full lower lip, then backing off to let Lelouch's teeth graze his kiss-swollen mouth. They explore each other until Charles's discreet cough tells them that he thinks they should move on; they don't acknowledge him but part slowly, lingering tongues tasting as they sneak pecks. Suzaku's hands have inched their way inside the tight black cotton of Lelouch's briefs to angle his body; they crush their hips together, friction leaving them starry-eyed and panting. "That was more than I ever dreamed of," Lelouch whispers. Suzaku smiles, dipping in to kiss him again.

I liked it, too, Suzaku wants to say, It was a great kiss. "I can feel your erection against my thigh," he says instead, instantly turning pink with embarrassment. Charles laughs. "I," Suzaku stammers, covering his face with one hand and laughing awkwardly. "That was really nice. I want to fuck you."

He freezes, mortified. Lelouch is silent beneath him. "I want to stop talking," Suzaku continues, ducking his face.

Lelouch's chest spasms with nervous laughter. "You should," he says. "I want you to fuck me, too."

Suzaku's heart catches in his throat, thumping hard. Lelouch is flushed, but his face is solemn, serious. He means it, even if it was a slip of the tongue. Suzaku knows he meant it, too. He leans down to bite at Lelouch's jaw, lashes fluttering at the moan he gets for it. Nuzzling his nose down the side of the slender throat, he sucks at a stark clavicle before pressing a fleeting kiss to the nipple below it and working his way further down, stopping just above where the suit gaps open, exposing black underwear. Lelouch's stomach heaves with breath, nervous and juddery, and Suzaku presses a soothing kiss just below his navel as he strips back the fabric. He works it over the bare feet and it's off, Lelouch's pale skin goose pimpled in the cell's stark light. He's clearly aroused, erection raised and pointing to the right, lifting the fabric slightly. Suzaku hooks his fingertip in the gap its shape opens beneath it and Lelouch jerks back, canting his hips away shyly before visibly steeling himself.

"Don't be afraid," Suzaku tells him gently. "I don't want you to be afraid. Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."

Lelouch shivers hard, his whole frame shaking three times before he digs long, pale fingers into his thighs to still himself. "I feel scared, but I want this so much," he whispers, biting his lip. His fingers quiver as he trails them up his leg to the spot he pressed earlier, the narrow crease between hip and thigh. "Kiss me here. I want you to kiss me here," he says, voice quiet but sure.

"Yes, my lord," Suzaku tells him, bracing his hands on Lelouch's hips to lean in, lips barely brushing against cotton as he obeys.

"Harder than that," Lelouch commands, and Suzaku feels the fibers rough against his lips as he presses a firm kiss against the spot. Lelouch sighs shakily, tension slipping from his frame as he melts into the floor. "I like that."

Suzaku's mouth works, jaw flexing as he kisses Lelouch's hipbone over and over, a thousand little kisses that grow more passionate as he continues. He sucks open-mouthed on the fabric, tongue slipping to taste skin-warmed cotton. Lelouch puffs a soft sound of surprise at the sudden wetness, and Suzaku curls his fingers around the elastic, lifting it aside to suck a small bruise on the skin below. The prince goes still, tension building again as his underwear is inched down from that spot, tugging gently until the first wisps of black hair peek from the edges. Suzaku tastes the skin along the edges of the fabric until his chin brushes the base of his erection. He stops, lingering against Lelouch's belly, waiting.

"I," Lelouch starts. "It's so different than I thought it would be. I feel every touch of your mouth like it's inside me, making me harder and harder than I've ever been before. I can't—I can't think. I want you to taste me; I want you to do something. I want to come. I've never wanted to come this badly."

Suzaku's stomach flips; his cock pulses hot against his stomach on the floor. "You want me to suck you until you come?"

"No," Lelouch says, shaking his head. "No. I want you to fuck me. But I want you to suck me, too, and I want to try to suck you, even though I don't think I'd be any good at it."

Eyes dark with lust, Suzaku climbs the ladder of Lelouch's body to devour his mouth. "I'm sure you'd be amazing," he groans. "I wouldn't even care about how good you are. I'd probably come before you even put it in your mouth." His hand presses between Lelouch's thighs, wrist trapped between their bodies as he ruts against him, palm grinding sweet friction between them until Lelouch stiffens, cuffed hands clutching his arm.

"Please don't!" he cries, legs curling up to cling to Suzaku's hips. His cock throbs in Suzaku's hand, and he's tempted to squeeze, make quick work of it and take himself in hand. He wants to see the look on Lelouch's face when he finally loses that last shred of control. He wants to see him come.

Instead, he carefully removes his hand, burying his nose in the palm to absorb the trace musk that lingers there. Lelouch flushes deeply, arms wrapping around Suzaku's head to tug him down and lip at his ear. "I want you to fuck me," he says, tone imperial and desperate. Suzaku growls. It's enough.

They don't watch to see where Lelouch's briefs land. He doesn't bother undressing himself, fingers fumbling with the latch closures on the front of his own suit to bare a straight line to his cock, ready and hard, shiny with arousal. His tongue darts out, licking across the line of his thumb before he sweeps it over the glistening head to smear the precome evenly. There's no lube; he's not even sure Lelouch knows there's supposed to be lube. He positions himself and pushes in before his rational mind has a chance to tell him not to.

Lelouch's spine arches like a cat and he screams, a full scream of pain and surprise. Suzaku makes gentle, meaningless shushing sounds, pinning him to the floor until he's weak and kittenish, eyes wet with tears. "It gets better," he murmurs reassuringly, and he can say it because he hopes it's true. Lelouch pushes at his shoulders, opening the space between them, and his pulse beats in his throat fast. "Do you want me to take it out?" Suzaku asks. He hopes he'll say no.

"It hurts a lot," Lelouch tells him, and guilt stabs him. He bites his lip against the words the drug wants to pull forward and presses a tender, stilted kiss against his brow. It's just as true. He pulls back and thrusts in again. Lelouch draws a pained breath.

"Do you want me to stop?" Suzaku asks, and Lelouch shakes his head, eyes shut tight.

"I don't want this to beat me. I'm better than this," Lelouch says, and when Suzaku leans in to kiss him, he tilts away. Suzaku's lips smear wet across the plane of an angled cheek, and he bites at the shell of his ear, his own hot breath echoing back at him. Lelouch is hot and tight around him, so tight he can barely move. He pulls and thrusts again, biting his lip against the wince knitting itself between Lelouch's eyebrows.

"It gets better," he says again, but he's not sure he believes it. He thrusts again, and his fingertips must be bruising on Lelouch's hip where he's clutching him. He's red and swollen where Suzaku's cock pierces him, and Suzaku licks his thumb again, swiping the moisture across the irritated skin. Lelouch yelps, twisting away.

"Don't do that! It stings!" Lelouch says, and Suzaku buries his frown in Lelouch's knee, lifting it to hang his leg over his shoulder. His hips push faster, fucking more enthusiastically as Lelouch bites his lip and looks out through the impossibly clear walls of the cell. He's limp, limbs motionless and cock curled soft against his belly. Suzaku feels his stomach clenching and comes almost before he can expect it, slumping against Lelouch heavily before falling to the floor. He's strangely unsatisfied.

"Are you okay?" he asks Lelouch in a whisper.

Lelouch smile is threadbare. "I'll be fine." Suzaku frowns, tugging him over to curl on his side behind him, eyes studiously avoiding the video screen's watchful eye. "Suzaku," Lelouch asks reluctantly, "Why," he pauses, tasting the words. "Why do people have sex when it hurts so much?"

Suzaku stops, wrapping his arm around Lelouch's stomach to quell his shaking. "Because," he says carefully, "Because they love each other. It makes them feel close to each other."

"And you? Do you love me?" Lelouch asks, voice small.

Suzaku thinks. Remembers. He remembers Euphie and all the other people he's loved. All the other people he's slept with, and it's not always the same faces. He considers. "I don't know," he says, and he knows the drug has worn off. "I'm not sure."

They lay in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before he realizes that Charles is still watching, silent, on the screen. He frowns at the man, but the Emperor just looks at him, weight in his stare. Outside the cell, Suzaku can make out the dim shape of a soldier waiting; the bridge has extended again, and he can make out the barest outline of a door where there had been none before. He turns to see if Lelouch is watching, but he's fallen asleep, exhausted, naked and bruised. Suzaku turns his back on the soldier, obscuring his view of the prince as he carefully dresses him in the drab restraint coat. Lelouch looks almost sweet, innocent as he curls on the floor. He presses a kiss to the top of his sweaty head and smiles when he makes a kittenish noise of discontent. Maybe he wasn't lying. He doesn't know what he thinks of Lelouch.

The soldier escorts him to the Emperor, who's not so far away as a few doors down the corridor. When the violet bird flares to life in Charles's eye, he's not so much surprised as tired.

He wakes up angry; he can't believe he let himself fall asleep, lulled by the vibrations in Lancelot's cockpit. Lelou—_Zero_, he tells himself; he can't let himself think of him as Lelouch. He's not Lelouch, because the Lelouch he knows would never try to kill him. The Lelouch he knows wouldn't lie to Nunnally and shoot her sister, much less broadcast it to the world as he did so. The Lelouch he knows wouldn't pretend to be his friend for months only to try to blackmail him into letting him get away with murder—Zero is curled at his feet, unconscious. He knows the Emperor will be surprised to know that his son is alive, but as far as Suzaku is concerned, Lelouch is dead.


End file.
